


Enhanced Swallow

by Sunshinegrimes (orphan_account)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Related, Cock Vore, Dubious Consent, F/M, Geralt makes bad choices, Hypnotism, Inflation, Licking, M/M, Monsters, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Fixation, Shameless Smut, Smut, Subspace, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 08:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15554103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Sunshinegrimes
Summary: Geralt takes a very bad, not good contract.orThe one where Geralt is lied to by a villager, and ends up becoming the victim of a type of creature that feeds on it's victims pleasure.*PLEASE HEED THE TAGS*





	Enhanced Swallow

**Author's Note:**

> My first (somewhat unconventional) Witcher fic :D Hope you guys enjoy it!

Geralt was well past his limit, and for the first time in a long while, he was ready to rest. For the last few days, he had been riding north, carrying out a contract to find a missing merchant, and despite what some people may believe about Witchers, they did need to sleep from time to time.   
  
This part of Novigrad was new to Geralt, and the woods were cold and dark, the shadows filled with the gleaming yellow eyes of wolves. Through the mists that swirled around him, Geralt could see light from a nearby hamlet, a bonfire perhaps, and his stomach growled with hunger at the smell of roasting meat that wafted down the vale. Beneath him, restless, Roach whinnied, but Geralt pressed his knees in in encouragement and rubbed his horse’s head appreciatively.   
  
“Just a little longer.” He promised Roach, and urged the horse onwards. Before long, the exhausted pair cleared the tree line, and Geralt dismounted Roach slowly for then final stretch, approaching the small cluster of houses that squatted beneath the moon where it hung, gleaming like a polished stone.  
  
“Hold it right there! Don’t take another step.” A man came striding his way over from the fence line, a sword held aloft in his hand and a lantern in the other. He was young, with barely a hair on his chin, and Geralt felt his eye twitch as the man, no, the boy, puffed out his chest and sized him up. He had fought bigger nekkers one-handed.  
  
“I mean no harm, I’m looking for a place to stay the night, I’ll be gone by morning.”  
  
“And you think we’ve room to spare? Plough off, _freak_.” The boy sneered, and swung his sword loosely in Geralt’s direction.  
  
“Wait a minute! Hold on Jeras, let the man in.” An old man had joined them, and he walked with a limp as he made his way over. In the dim light from the lantern, Geralt saw the old man’s cloudy eyes widen. “A Witcher? You take your guard duties too seriously Jeras, you will lose your head one day. Don’t mind him, come Witcher, sit by the fire, warm your bones.” The old man extended a grizzled, arthritic hand, and Geralt nodded in appreciation as he made his way inside the village.

  
“Thanks... My horse, Roach,” Geralt asked the old man, as he tugged lightly at Roach’s reins to keep her walking. “She needs rest too.” 

  
“Not to worry Witcher, I’ll put her by my old nag.” The old man held out his hands for Roach’s reins, and Geralt rubbed her cheek before letting him lead her away.  
  
Making his way to the bonfire, Geralt settled himself on one of the wide benches, and rolled his aching, weary shoulders. Across from him, on the other side of the fire, sat a man with a bushy, ginger beard. His eyes were black, glittering like the chitin of a beetle, and his small mouth was pressed into a frown. The man reached forward, and stirred a pot of something bubbling and thick. The meaty smell that Geralt had noticed before hit him at full force. He was starving.

  
“A Witcher? You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  
“What makes you say that?” Geralt asked conversationally.  


“I was out in the woods two days ago, felling trees early in the morn’ for firewood. I came across this cabin with a lamp shining at the window, one I’ve never seen before.”  
Geralt sat back with his hands braced on his knees. Usually, he wouldn’t have minded listening to the man’s woes, but his empty stomach and aching muscles were leaving him in a foul mood.  


“You tried knocking?”   


“I knocked a few times, but no one answered. Then, out of nowhere, these... things... came out of nowhere. They swarmed me, and I fled. Lost my best axe.”  


“Couldn’t you just get another one?” Geralt was beginning to regret sitting by the fire. This man was clearly an idiot.  


“It’s not the axe I’m worried about, it’s the cabin. Don’t you think that’s odd? It appearing out of nowhere like that?” At Geralt’s silence, the man hunched in on himself, scowling. “Gives me the creeps, if you ask me. What if they follow me back to the village?” Geralt was half tempted to tell the man that if he hadn’t the brains to get himself another axe, the fact he hadn’t noticed a cabin outside of his own settlement was hardly surprising, but he bit his tongue.   


“What’s your name?” Geralt didn’t particularly care who the man was, but having a name made it easier to find him later. People had a habit of wandering off.  


“Semil.”  


“Geralt. How about this, Semil: I go investigate this cabin, bring your axe back, and I get some of whatever’s cooking.” Geralt gestured to the pot, a wry smile on his face.  


“Really? You’ve got yourself a deal Witcher.” Semil nodded, running a hand over his beard and glancing over his shoulder into the woods. “The cabin is about 10 minutes’ walk that way, you’ll find it, I’m sure.”  


“Sure.” Geralt rumbled as he stepped away from his comfortable position by the fire.

“One last thing. These things... what did they look like? You’re not exactly giving me much to go on here.”  


“Small, very small, like a swarm of giant, angry bees. And whenever I crushed one, there was another, then another.”  


“Small, angry, multiplying, got it.” Geralt murmured, before turning away and leaving in the direction Semil had indicated. This ought to be quick.

 

\---

 

Without the warm, solid presence of Roach beneath him, Geralt trekked through the dark woods alone, casting an eye over his shoulder for trouble at the slightest sound. If wolves, or worse, came knocking, Geralt knew he would smell them long before they made their presence audible, but in a world where spiders grew larger than oxen, you could never afford to drop your guard.  
  
Just as Semil had said, after a short walk, Geralt saw a light filtering through the trees. It was bright, and as Geralt got closer, it seemed to throb, beckoning him in.   
  
Geralt paused, letting his senses adjust to the spectacle in front of him. He could see the cabin more clearly now, and from the inside, he could hear a faint rushing noise, like the beating of a thousand tiny wings. Strangely though, he couldn’t make out any footprints in the earth leading to the door, there was no abandoned axe, and the trees around him were still standing. In fact, there wasn’t any evidence that Semil had been here at all, much less two days ago.  
  
Geralt was about to turn back and confront Semil for his lies, when the strong scent of meat from the cabin caught his attention. As if on cue, his stomach growled, and Geralt swallowed thickly as saliva pooled in his mouth.   
  
Geralt was no stranger to illusions, he knew trickery when he saw it, but something about the cabin seemed so inviting, so quaint.   
  
_No._ Geralt thought. _This is a trap, I need to leave._  
  
With a firm resolve, Geralt turned from the sight, repeating his thoughts like a mantra. He knew he was being toyed with. Perhaps whatever was occupying the cabin could sense his hunger, so why then were his feet leading him one step after another up to that innocuous, carved oak door?  
  
Reaching out a traitorous hand, Geralt knocked firmly, and the door creaked upon of its own accord, spilling the light from within into the shadowy stoop. As soon as Geralt’s feet brought him over the threshold, the rustling sound abruptly ceased, and he blinked into the brightness to take in his surroundings.   
  
The interior of the cabin was basic, cosy, perfunctory: a hearth at one end, with a few roughly hewn crates and cabinets for storage. A crude bed made from the same wood was pushed up against the opposite wall, a few blankets thrown on top of it. Lastly, upon a squat table, sat the lantern. From up close, its flame flickered, seeming to wink at Geralt in deception, before the door slammed shut behind him.  
  
Whirling around, Geralt reached for the sword on his back, when a small flutter of movement caught his eye. A creature, no bigger than his thumb, sat atop one of the crates. It was naked, with the bodily proportions of a human, if a little squatter. Its hands and feet were perfectly formed, and folded against its back sat a pair of sleek, transparent wings. Geralt stared at the creature, and from beneath its wild, bright red shock of hair, the thing stared back.  
  
Suddenly, as though looking at the creature had put him under some kind of trance, Geralt’s gut gave a strong spasm of need. He felt hollow, starving and his senses were so saturated by hunger that his skin tingled with adrenaline. He had never felt a craving like this, never wanted for anything so badly. As Geralt’s eyes came back into focus, half mad with desire, he found the creature hovering in front of his face. A flare of his nostrils confirmed to Geralt that it’s tiny body carried the scent that plagued him, and without thinking, he snatched up the being and pushed it entirely into his mouth.  
  
At first, the surprisingly soft, lithe weight that rested on his tongue gave him a pause, and Geralt stood there, mouth full and his hands suspended around his face in wonder at what he had just done. Then, of its own volition, his tongue began to curve, rolling the body upwards, then back to the edge of his throat. Far below, his stomach gurgled its assent, and after a second more hesitance, Geralt swallowed.   
  
The effect was instantaneous, Geralt felt his throat work around the body, felt it squirm as it travelled down the slippery slope to his groaning gut, and once the creature had reached his stomach, Geralt’s knees wobbled at the immense satisfaction that flooded every inch of his body.   
  
As his body reeled from the pleasure, Geralt caught sight of a second being, the same size as the first, hovering just out of range above his head. This time though, Geralt was quicker to lunge, grabbing them out of the air and pushing them into his mouth with that same, urgent need. No sooner had he devoured the second one, then two more had appeared over by the bed. Scrambling over to them, Geralt growled as they attempted to flee, feeling their fruitless efforts to wriggle free and push against his tongue as he forced them in one by one.

In the back of his mind, Geralt was somewhat aware that he was behaving like a beast. That in this moment, as he held a fifth body by its tiny feet and lowered it into his panting, wet mouth, he would condemn a monster for behaving in such an out of control manner. But as the 6th, 7th then 8th writhing form settled in his stomach, contributing to the ever-growing mass, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Geralt was eating himself into a frenzy, and as he swept his gaze around the cabin, he could see more and more emerging from their hiding spaces, duplicating themselves with small flashes of amber light. There seemed to be no end to their numbers, and mysteriously, they seemed to be eying him up with a similar hunger to his own. They swayed temptingly close on their delicate wings, but always made him work a little to chase them down.   
  
A few minutes of greedy feasting quickly rolled into half an hour, and by that time, Geralt felt a dense heaviness in his midsection. As dozens of the small creatures flitted above his head, Geralt slumped against the edge of the bed. He was so full, his stomach pushing tightly up against the inside of his body armour, to the point where he couldn’t draw a full breath anymore. With lethargic fingers, Geralt tugged at the straps and buckles that held his various layers of clothing together, and a heavy sigh whooshed out of him as his torso was freed from its confines. He had gained a few inches of twitching, softened belly, moving still from the beings that were alive and squirming. He had long since lost count of how many he had eaten, devouring them sometimes two at a time in his haste to soothe the gnawing hunger that wracked his body and mind. As he ran his hands over the curve of it in wonder, Geralt hoped that this would be enough, that he could return to the village, and demand an explanation from that despicable Semil character that had sent him on this quest.  
  
A deep, rumbling growl from his stomach, however, told him he wasn’t quite finished yet.   
  
He couldn’t possibly still be hungry, could he? Geralt let his gaze once again rest on the soft mound of his belly. A haze had settled over his senses like a thick, soporific fog. Gathering what remained of his energy, Geralt looked around the cabin with half-lidded eyes, noticing the creatures were watching him too.   
  
They didn’t seem scared of him, and were only too happy to keep replicating themselves to... to what? It was possible that they intended on wearing him down for some other purpose. Geralt wasn’t able to think for too long. Just like before, the need to eat something, anything, overcame him. Geralt pushed himself up from his slumped position and snagged one of the closest ones to him.  
  
Geralt ate and ate, and he continued to devour any of the creatures that strayed too close, until one of them all but deliberately dive bombed his midsection, bouncing off of the mass of it, and landing with a tumble, quite perfectly, in his lap.   
  
This time, instead of devouring his prize, Geralt lifted, and pressed their tiny body to his mouth, inhaling deeply through his nose and dragging his tongue over their delicate torso. They squirmed in his grasp, their soft wings tickling his nose and cheeks, and their minuscule fingers pushed against the hot, wet muscle of his tongue, sinking into the surface of it and slipping when his saliva coated their skin. Transfixed by their tempting taste, Geralt continued to lick over their body, curling his tongue under their neck and between their smooth, hairless legs. He could hear himself growling, his breaths coming out panting, pleasured. Geralt continued this for a minute longer, turning them over and over in his slick hands before committing this treat to the confines of his stomach.  
  
As he licked his palm for any traces of their taste, Geralt became aware of a warmth spreading, pulsing, from his stomach, down beneath the ties of his breeches. He was enjoying himself immensely, and every time he felt the mass of wriggling bodies shift and undulate, his trousers became tighter and tighter. They needed to go.  
  
Freeing himself from the tightness of his breeches took a great deal more wriggling than Geralt was used to, and as he undid their ties, his forearms pushed snugly up against the swell of his stomach, the crest of which had begun to lip over his wrists. Hooking his thumbs inside of his trousers, Geralt lifted his bottom off of the ground, and eased the tight fabric from around his gelatinous waistline, embarrassingly aware that the expanse of flesh was jiggling as he did so.  
  
Once he had kicked the remains of those constrictive trousers away, Geralt could really see how big his gut had become after the second round of indulgence. The dome of it was just starting to brush his thighs and his once angular hips were encased in a soft layer of pudge. What captured his attention more, however, was the hot, heavy press of his erect cock, the head of which nudged, now freed, against his full midsection.  
  
Truly, he had become a beast if he was enjoying himself _this_ much, Geralt thought to himself. However, as he used his saliva-slick palm to take himself in hand, Geralt let out a groan and began to stroke himself into full hardness. He wasn’t worried about being watched by the creatures. In fact, he could barely think of anything else but chasing his desires. Food, sex, nothing else mattered in that moment. He was definitely under some kind of spell, but he couldn’t bring himself to care beyond the slick glide of his cock and the firm pressure filling him up. His arm bumped against his stomach with every pass of his hand, and Geralt pressed the fingers of his empty hand over the taut skin, kneading and squeezing it like it was made of dough.  
  
As he pleasured himself, Geralt tilted his head back to rest against the mattress behind him. He thrust his hips in tiny hitching movements, up against his fingers which were now not only coated in his saliva, but with his own slick fluids too. It took an almost embarrassingly short amount of time, and very little effort to push him towards completion. Sweat beaded on Geralt’s his brow, and in the crease under his belly, as he neared his orgasm, and his vocalisations became increasingly more feral. Finally, with a deep, guttural groan, Geralt spilled his release across his fingers and his protruding gut, toes curling and his eyes squeezing shut as he continued to moan through the aftershocks.

Geralt felt himself passing out from sheer, bone deep pleasure of it all, and for now, welcomed the blackness creeping at the corners of his mind. 

 

\---

  
  
When Geralt came to, it must only have been a handful of minutes later, as his release on his belly and hands was still damp and cooling. At first, it worried Geralt, knowing that anything could have happened to him while he was unconscious. However, as his senses returned to him, his thoughts became more preoccupied with the fact that his belly, cock and hands were covered with those tiny creatures. They were lapping at his skin, cleaning him of his sweat and release, and when he grunted in confusion and gave a little twitch of his fingers, they didn’t scatter. Instead, they seemed more eager than before, their tiny wings fanning out and brushing his flushed, heavy body.  
  
Geralt felt safe. As they worked away, he let himself drift in and out of focus, his eyelids heavy and his gut churning away at the feast he had gorged himself on. One of the creatures buzzed up around his face, and he tilted his head away from it as its tiny hands nudged at his cheek. It appeared to be trying to get his attention, as it flew around the other side of his face to nudge there was well.

“What?” Geralt rumbled, lifting his head and looking down at where they rested in their dozens, feather light against his skin. One of the creatures, poised over the head of his cock, was rubbing a hand around his slit, pressing at the spongy surface of it. From their earlier preening whilst he was unconscious, Geralt was already half hard, but it hadn’t been very long since the previous round. He was oversensitive, and squirmed under their ministrations, reaching a hand out to nudge them away.

Their reaction was instantaneous. As soon as Geralt made a move to shoo them away, he was struck by an immense hunger, his hand dropping to his side once more. All he could do was watch, his mouth open and panting, as his length once again thickened and grew flushed with arousal. A single droplet of his release beaded at the tip, tension holding it in place, before it spilled down the side of his shaft, quickly being lapped up by a dozen, greedy mouths. Up top, the creature ran its hand through the wet trail, back to his weeping slit. Geralt moaned as five tiny fingers dipped and pressed against the opening over and over, until his slit gave way and sucked the creature’s hand in up to its wrist. It began to thrust its arm deeper and deeper, penetrating the narrow channel and forcing it wider, Geralt’s release leaking freely in thick droplets and making the way even more slippery.

Geralt was starting to shake, not from fear, but from the rolling waves of pleasure the things were drawing out of him. Until this moment, he wasn’t even sure it was possible to be so completely aroused, and yet… here he was, immobilised, enthralled in a state of pure ecstasy. Wider and wider, his slit stretched around the creature’s arm, until it began to push the fingers of its other hand alongside it. Geralt felt his breath catch in his chest, holding it until his lungs prickled and his vision swam. Bright spots of colour danced across the scene before him, and Geralt could do little else but be a bystander behind his own eyes as his slit accepted the intrusion. Two hands weren’t much of a challenge, but two arms…two shoulders and…

“Fuck!” Geralt panted, his toes curling and his fingers curling into fists at his sides. The creature was pushing its whole body, headfirst into the slick confines of his cock. He expected it to hurt, waited for the sting, or for his slit to tear from the creature’s size, but his shaft seemed to readily accept the foreign presence, and his slit began to close up after it had wriggled up to its petite waist. A lump had formed under the glands of his cock, a thick bulb that travelled slowly down towards his base. No sooner had it disappeared out of view, then another one of the creatures was crawling up his shaft to take its place, slipping inside and momentarily plugging the flow of precum that was leaking from his stuffed cock.

By now, Geralt’s mouth hung open, as a stream of nonsensical syllables and half formed curses spilled out. His breathing was ragged, his brain overworked and consumed by lust. His skin was flushed, sweaty, and his eyes rolled back as another orgasm sent his stomach muscles into spasm. His balls ached, and around the third body that was working its way into his slit, a weak dribble of cum managed to escape down his throbbing shaft. Absently, Geralt was aware that he was passing out again, his mouth feeling dry from his laboured gasping, and head spinning from the cacophony of sensations. Still, he welcomed the blackness, allowing himself to slip into it before he lost his mind completely.

 

\---

 

The next time Geralt awoke, it was to a pounding soreness in his temples, and a throbbing between his legs. His entire body ached where he sat, his muscles feeling overworked. His hair, once tied up away from his face, was matted from sweat, and tickled his cheeks as he turned his head to survey the cabin around him. Daylight poured through the windows, and he could hear birdsong filtering through the trees. It had certainly been a great deal of time since he had first entered the cabin.

Still dizzy from fatigue, and with a weak grunt, Geralt planted a hand on the ground beside him, trying to push himself into a more upright position. However, in his exhaustion, Geralt had forgotten entirely about his earlier gorging. Vague memories of his rabid, wild feasting came back to him, and Geralt’s eyes slid away from the window, downwards to where a veritable mountain of flesh sat upon his lap. Geralt felt a rush of dysmorphia as he started at the swollen mass, unable to comprehend that it belonged to him.

Since he had fallen unconscious, his belly had almost _doubled_ in size, resting snugly against his thighs by now, and expanded out more than the full length of his forearm. From where he sat, Geralt couldn’t even reach his belly button from his current position, and with the way the contents sloshed when he moved, it felt as though he had swallowed an entire cask of mead. It seemed that while Geralt had been asleep, more of the creatures had pushed their way down his throat, and by the way his length throbbed between his legs, more and more had worked their way inside of his slit.

Geralt couldn’t spot any of the tiny creatures, but after taking a deep breath through his nose, he could pinpoint that they were nearby, possibly hiding as they rested. Shifting himself upright all in one go was out of the question, but if he took his time about it, Geralt was sure he could get to his feet and pursue the creatures. Potentially even stop them for good. After a few more deep breaths, Geralt turned himself onto his side, then onto his knees entirely with his hands resting on the bed. His knees protested as he put the full weight of his belly onto them, and the heaviness was making his lower back sore, but little by little, and with sweat glistening on his plump body, Geralt pushed and grunted and hauled himself up.

The creatures had been waiting for him. Just as Geralt was about to plant one foot flat on the ground for leverage, the hunger once again took over his body and Geralt faceplanted the bed. His hands braced themselves on the floor, to stop himself slipping entirely and breaking his neck. Underneath him, his belly swayed dangerously, brushing the wooden boards.

“What now.” Geralt growled, his breaths already coming in heavy pants. There was no way that he could be hungry anymore, and yet, when the creatures started to land on the bed infront of his face, felt the familiar need surfacing once more. Geralt’s lips pulled back around a growl, and he reached up with one hand to grab one. He’d show them, he’d make them pay for humiliating him like this.

But as he stuffed the one wriggling in his grip past his sharp teeth, Geralt felt a pressure against his tailbone, a searching sort of push from a few tiny pairs of hands. Elsewhere, one of the creatures landed against his inner thigh, scaling the strong muscles there and nudging behind his balls, dangerously close to his cleft. Geralt shifted restlessly, the skin there felt unusually sensitive and tingly, and he became mortified when cool fingers pushed up against the tight furl of his hole.

Geralt swallowed hard. He had taken partners, and been taken, in the past. However, the lack of preparation, coupled with the memories of how they had filled his other holes so thoroughly, worried him.

“Hey.” Geralt tried to say around the creature that was wriggling on his tongue. The fingers probing at his entrance were starting to feel slippery, coated in lubricant. Geralt swallowed hard, almost choking on his treat as the fingers, like with his slit, started to push inside of his entrance, heedless of his protests. Geralt reached back, trying to push their little body away as it eased inside, both arms like before, then the head and shoulders, but his hand dropped uselessly to his side as his slit started to be simultaneously assaulted. Geralt wasn’t sure how many times he had reached orgasm whilst unconscious, but by now, he was dripping precum freely now onto the floor between his knees, and his slit felt overstretched.

Now fully submerged in his channel, the little creature wriggled, and started to travel upwards, purposefully, towards his prostate, their tiny hands massaging and pressing against it, milking him from the inside. Geralt let out an unintelligible moan and thrust his hips forward, his stuffed balls hanging heavy behind his hardening cock. Another of the creatures nudged his lips, wanting to be invited inside.

Exhausted from the prolonged, pleasurable torture on his senses, Geralt’s tongue slid from between his teeth, letting the thing climb up into his mouth. He swallowed mechanically around it, unable to think around the way his ass, cock and stomach were being filled up. Already, two more had wriggled into his ass, then three, and his cock pulsed out a pitiful few drops of release, adding to the puddle that was steadily growing.

He so close to slipping into that subspace of before, to letting the creatures have his way with him, when a larger individual landed on the bed by his face. Blinking tiredly, Geralt turned his head to the side, nestling his cheek against the bedding as he tried to focus on the newcomer. It was of the same species, he was certain, but it was three times the size, and it was watching him with a smug look on its tiny features. It reached forward, and petted his cheek affectionately, and drool slipped from Geralt’s mouth as he tried to formulate a protest.

This was probably the queen, or the mother, Geralt’s hazy mind surmised. She stepped closer, tilting her tiny head and stroking over his mouth, spreading the drool there and pulling back his bottom lip from his sharp teeth.

Geralt stretched out his tongue, licking lazily up her small, supple calf. She made a sound like a purr and stuck out her foot so that he could lave over it. His tongue felt heavy and tired, but he slid the warm wet muscle over her leg and up to her waist, dipping beneath her chin and suckling her fingers. She seemed to relax into the grooming, content to have sedated her prey.

That was a mistake.

With the last remaining vestiges of his strength, Geralt lunged upwards and seized her tiny body, squeezing with his fingers so that she couldn’t squirm away. Her scent was the strongest out of any of the creatures that he had encountered yet, and Geralt needed no convincing as he opened wide and started to push her, feet first, into his waiting maw. Unlike the others, her squirming was more genuine, fearful, and not interested in playing. With as much strength as she could muster, her tiny feet slid and kicked futilely against the back of his throat.

Growling, Geralt waited until she paused for breath, and swallowed firmly around her bulk, letting the muscles of his throat pull her the rest of the way in. She was more difficult to fit, being thrice the size of his previous meals, but the tight squeeze was aided by the slickness of his saliva that was pooling from her strong taste. Her head disappeared past his teeth, and with his mouth closed around her heavy girth, Geralt tilted his head back as far as it would go and let gravity take over.

It took a few more heavy swallows, her waist and shoulders making his neck bulge and stars dancing across his vision from a lack of air, but eventually the thick swell in his neck passed below his collarbones, and Geralt lay panting with his cheek on the bed once more. He could feel her body descending into his gut, his stomach growling in anticipation and the sphincter of his stomach widened to accommodate her size. He was already crammed full, sweaty from exertion, but this final treat had been worth the wait.

Sinking down to sit fully on his knees, Geralt caught his breath. He was aware that the thrumming, over encompassing pleasure that had addled his senses was wearing off, and that now that he had defeated their queen, the others had been sent packing with great haste. He was left, alone, aching and sore once again. Still, he couldn’t find himself complaining, knowing that any longer and his body might have well and truly given out.

Letting himself list to one side, Geralt pulled the blanket that was on top of the bed with him, and collapsed into sleep, hoping to hibernate whilst his body worked through the rest of its feast.

 

\---

 

Night had fallen once again, and was filtering into the early hours of the morning, when Geralt woke up to a much emptier, satisfied feeling in his stomach. It had been over 24 hours since he had been sent on this trip, and in a bizarre twist of fucked up fate, it turned out that he had not needed the hospitality of the villagers after all. He had gotten his food, gotten his shelter.

 _And now,_ Geralt thought, _I’ll get my reward._

The cabin around him had vanished during the night, gone like the rest of the creatures’ illusions. It wouldn’t be tempting anyone again, and the villagers were free of the little parasites. Geralt wondered how many others had fallen prey to these strange beings, drawn in with the promise of food, shelter or pleasure. He would write a passage about them in his bestiary, and be sure to keep his guard up the next time he saw a cabin in the middle of nowhere, with a lantern twinkling in the window.

Standing up for the first time in a long while, Geralt pulled on his clothes and armed himself once again. His midsection was still not quite flat, perhaps a few inches thicker than usual, but his armour hid it for the most part. He was sure Roach would not appreciate the change, but he needed time to digest his meal.

A glint of metal caught his eye, and Geralt turned his head to track where it had come from. Sticking out of the long grass, and wet with the morning dew, was a medium sized axe, perfect for chopping down the sturdy nearby trees. Bending to retrieve it, Geralt stowed it in his bags for safe keeping, a plan halfway forming in the back of his mind. Geralt stretched his arms above his head, cracked the stiffness out of his back and began to stride his way back through the woods.

By the time the sunrise was in full swing, Geralt approached the settlement, and was stopped again by the young man, Jeras, who was half asleep leaning against the wall.

“I’m here for Semil, where is he.” Geralt growled, making Jeras leap out of his skin.

“Witcher! You’re… you’re back!” Jeras’ voice was slightly higher than usual, and Geralt loomed closer, fixing him with narrowed eyes.

“Semil. Where.”

“Down by the stables! You’ll find him there.”

Geralt stomped past him, and from their early morning duties, the people of the village averted their gazes and whispered amongst themselves. It was clear that they had not expected him to return, nor had they wanted to.

Semil, the snake, was not so humble. Spreading his arms wide, the woodcutter attempted to greet Geralt like a friend, but the sweat on his brow gave him away.

“Master Witcher! How good of you to return-”

“Save it. I don’t want to hear any more lies. You sent me into the woods on a fool’s errand.”

“I’m not sure what you’re pertaining to.” Geralt’s patience was running thin, and Semil must have been able to see it, because he quickly caved. “Alright! Alright. It wasn’t entirely a lie though. I did lose my best axe, a few months ago, but if you Witchers actually did your job properly, and cleaned up the kingdom like you’re supposed to, our village would be free of plagues like that! Months, we’ve been suffering those creatures, coming in and taking our things, luring us into the woods for days on end, and I just thought…”

“That you’d get some petty revenge? That I’d be attacked, and somehow, it would make me feel sorry for you?”

“Something like that… I wanted the creatures gone, and I was angry at the sight of you…but… it’s all taken care of now, isn’t it? You did take care of them, didn’t you?”

“You’re unbelievable.” Geralt’s voice had dropped dangerously low, and Semil shifted on the spot, no longer looking him in the eye.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting a reward?” Semil squeaked, and Geralt leant very close to him, a humourless smile on his face.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve already got what I want.” Reaching back, Geralt produced Semil’s axe from his bag, and flipped it in the air before catching it again. “It’s a nice axe, pity it belongs to such a spineless coward.”

“B-but, that’s mine!” Semil protested, and he was quick to stride after Geralt as he retrieved Roach from the stables. “You can’t take that!”

“I’m sure you’ll manage.” Geralt stroked Roach’s mane, and the horse whinnied as though in agreement. “So long, Semil. Let’s hope you don’t need my help in the future.”

Still holding his prize, Geralt walked away, past Semil’s gaping expression, and left the town behind. He hoped that the woodcutter would learn from his mistakes. Geralt certainly wasn’t about to go near any lamplit cabins in the woods any time soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Hands up who's glad Semil got what was coming to him :D  
> I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you liked it! :)  
> 


End file.
